


Boys of St. Andrew's

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - School, Dubious Consent, M/M, Priest Kink, Sexual Abuse, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-08
Updated: 2009-05-11
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Spike and Lindsey are new seminary students, and it's not at all what they expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ash_carpenter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/gifts).



> Well, my darling dearest ash_carpenter has a birthday coming up, and so I've written a little something for her.
> 
> It, er, came out a bit long. (How's that for an homage!?)
> 
> And what would be more fitting than: Not-worksafe. Human AU. School kink. Priest kink. Spike and Lindsey are the new students at Father Angelus' seminary...
> 
> (please note, I know jack-all about what happens in real seminaries, and we can just assume this is some weird splinter church or something?)

A strident voice, touched with just enough twang to really make it grate on the ears, stalled Father Angelus just before he could get safely out the cloister gate. “Where are you goin’?”

Father Angelus schooled his features to be pleasant and turned to face his superior, Father Caleb. “To fetch the incoming students.”

Caleb squinted. “Fetch them? Are we so reduced, Father Angelus; is the world so foully ridden astray that a full father goes forth as a servant to drive students to the seminary?”

Somehow, Father Angelus held back his eye-roll. “Yes, it’s a pity, Father Caleb. The village bus has refused to take them this far – not enough fares.”

“Ridiculous! They brought last year’s class and that was only four. Surely that’s as small as we’ll ever see.”

“This class is smaller.”

“What? They only sent us three?”

“Two, actually.”

Caleb dropped his head in a shake like a tired dog, and almost smiled. “This is a blight. A sign of the bereft souls of this nation. You know they want us to close this seminary?”

“Yes, Father Caleb. Which is why it’s so important we take care of those souls we are so lucky to have.”

Caleb frowned. “You have a devil in you, Angelus. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

Angelus raised his brows and, with a perfect simulacrum of sincerity, said, “We all have our demons to bear, father. Shall I bring the boys to you when we return?”

Caleb sighed mightily, a dark expression on his face, and took in a breath that was no doubt going to lead to a tirade on the relative merits (lack thereof) of new seminary students.

Angelus waved and ducked through the gate before he could exhale. Soon enough he was in his car, winding down the long road from the seminary to the town, whistling a happy tune as the dappled sunlight ran over the hood. For his part, Angelus would love two  _fewer_  students. Then they might finally – god, finally! – be shut down and he could be sent somewhere less dull. Like… Iowa.

It started to drizzle by the time he’d gotten to town, the light mist just enough to cloud the windshield and make the wipers useless. He rolled down his passenger-side window and peered out into the gloomy old bus-shelter that the town laughingly called a train station. Sure enough, two forlorn figures stood, guardians over their few possessions – just a suitcase each. Those who chose to board at a remote seminary in Maine didn’t tend to cling to their worldly goods. He stopped the car and called, “Are you going to St. Andrew’s?”

The boys shuffled nervously. One peered into the car, longish hair falling wetly into his face. “You our ride?”

“No, just a pervert trolling for seminary students. Get in the car.” Angelus straightened, hiding his smirk as the blonde kid seemed to actually believe him. The stockier one socked him on the arm and hurried to open the passenger door.

“Hi. I’m Lindsey,” the stocky kid said, holding out his rain-damp hand.

Angelus glanced at the rearview, waiting silent and still while Lindsey fidgeted nervously and the blonde kid awkwardly got into the back seat. Up close, his hair was not a color found in nature – well, unless you considered peroxide natural – and slicked to his skull by the damp. “Uh, thanks for the ride, mate.”

Oo… sexy voice. And a pretty face, when he looked down, flushed and unsure. Oh yes.

Lindsey cleared his throat. “I didn’t know the seminary provided transportation.”

“They don’t,” Angelus said, and turned the car into the street. Elena, Maine was a small enough town that he only checked for oncoming traffic as he was straightening out in the far lane. A short series of wooden storefronts, the white-painted gas station, and a turn, and Elena was gone entirely, just a roof or here through the trees as they wound their way uphill. Angelus went back to admiring his passengers. In the back seat – William was his name – he had read their applications after all – the blond boy was shifting around uneasily. Oh, Caleb was going to love this one, with his dyed hair.

Lindsey cleared his throat again, and Angelus tore his eyes away from the rear-view mirror. The car swerved with his shock. The boy was looking at him with a piercing glare that said not only had he noticed Angelus checking out William, but that he was angry about it.

Maybe old St. Andrew’s was going to be fun once again! Angelus grinned. “The rector isn’t too pleased with me coming out to bring you boys up. He feels you should have walked, or taken a cab. We run things a certain way at St. Andrew’s. You should know right now you’re coming in at the very bottom of a strict pecking order.” He flashed a special smile just for Lindsey. “And you’re bound to get pecked.”

“We’re pretty tough,” Lindsey said, coolly.

“All the better,” Angelus replied, and then had to start mentally reciting benedictions to keep his hard-on down.

They pulled into the gravel drive of St. Andrew on the Cross Seminary. The rain had stopped; leaving the heavy leaves dripping around them, lending the old stone mansion a tropical air. The car-door slam echoed pleasantly off of wet stone and bark. “Well boys, get your bags. I’ll take you to your room, and then you’ll have to meet the Rector, I’m afraid.” Angelus sighed theatrically. “He’s not nice, like me.”

From the anxious expressions, he could tell the boys understood perfectly how “nice” he was.

Father Caleb stood behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back, dressed as always in full priestly black. Most of the staff and teachers would wear just a color and a dark shirt during weekdays; not Caleb. He had his black gown smooth and perfect as if he was about to step up to the pulpit, and he watched with a quiet, disapproving eye as Angelus led William and Lindsey into his presence, the tilt of his head already condemning them to the pits of hell.

“Father Caleb, here is our incoming class. This is Lindsey McDonald and William Pratt. William, Lindsey – your rector, Father Caleb.” Angelus stepped behind the boys.

There was a long pause while Caleb looked them up and down. He was a good head taller than both of them – the boys were nearly the same height. Finally, he released his pursed lips to drawl, “What kind of name for a god-fearing man is ‘Lindsey’?”

Lindsey tilted his head back proudly. “It’s a family name. Daddy never explained why, but I like to think we’re descended from the rulers of the Kingdom of Lindsey.”

“You’re pretty funny, young Lindsey. Just remember that I know a smart mouth is the devil’s handiwork. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, boy. And for the record, we serve the Kingdom of Heaven here. Do you understand that?”

Caleb stared hard at Lindsey until the younger man broke eye contact and muttered, “Yessir.”

“There is no earthly kingdom that needs discussing in these walls, and whoa unto them who yearn for the wages of earthly gain! Theirs is not the Kingdom of Heaven. Theirs is the dirt before the gates. Well, what about you?”

The change in subject was so sudden and without pause or preamble, that before William realized he had been addressed, Caleb had sighed heavily and looked over his shoulder at Angelus. “Half-wits and sodomites. That’s all they send us anymore. This country is going surely to damnation when no clean boy seeks to enter the holy clergy.”

“Sir, I didn’t understand your question,” William said, quick and loud.

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re a half-wit as well as a sodomite.”

William flushed a very becoming pink, which was adorable with his attempt at a threatening expression. “I’m neither of those things!”

“Well, it’s hard to believe that assertion when you wear your hair like a woman.”

William flicked his eyes to Lindsey a moment, as if about to object to the relative womanishness of dyed versus long hair. To Angelus’ surprise, he was actually wise enough not to respond.

“See,” Caleb said, eyes moving carefully from one boy to the other, “I don’t think either of you have what it takes to make it through our course of study: the dedication, the pureness of vision to become a servant of God. I see it plainly on your faces, in your clothes.”

Angelus watched the boys react to this tirade. Lindsey didn’t look surprised or bothered by the dressing down. He was almost smiling. William, however, had clenched his fists at his side and tightened his jaw, every line of his form trembling with defiance.

Oh yes, these two boys were going to be fun. And with any luck he could use them to get at Caleb too. It was all Angelus could do not to throw his head back in a maniacal laugh like a stage villain.

“Very good, Father. I’ll just take these boys around to meet the rest of the faculty,” Angelus said, instead.

Caleb just shook his head, clearly thinking that the boys would carry disease to the staff.

***

Though the school had been built to house more students than it currently had – almost by an order of magnitude – it was Angelus’ decision, as vice-rector and head of student affairs, to continue to house the students two to a room and save on the housekeeping costs.

He showed the boys to their room, gave them each a key, and left them to unpack and relax.

Spike threw his duffel on his bed. A small puff of dust went into the air. “Do you see that?” He picked the back up and dropped it again. “Unbelievable. Place probably hasn’t been washed since the Carter administration.”

Lindsey snorted. “We’re here to learn how to be priests. What were you expecting? The Best Western?” He peered into the wooden clothes chest and knocked on the wall, testing its solidity. He nodded in satisfaction. A few screws, a pocket knife, and he’d have his whiskey secured from his roommate.

“If they wanted us to eat dirt and wander the wilderness, we could have paid a lot less in tuition.”

Lindsey shook his head. “It’s all part of the hazing, dumbass.” He opened his suitcase and started sorting through his clothes. “They make all kinds of harassing comments, and dump us in the crappiest room they have. And Christ, showing up with your hair dyed? What, were you expecting a medal, William?”

Spike muttered something under his breath. He was stripping the linens off the bed.

Lindsey smiled broadly, knowing a sore spot when he saw one. “What was that, blondie?”

“Spike.” He dropped the duvet. “Name’s Spike. Only one calls me ‘William’ is my mum.”

Lindsey cracked up. “Spike? Oh yeah. That’s going to go down real well.”

“Bugger off, ‘Lindsey’,” he sneered and shook out his comforter. “It’s my name.”

Lindsey sat down between his pile of hanging-up clothes and folding-up clothes. He regarded his new roommate thoughtfully. “Do you even  _want_  to be a priest?”

“No, I thought shacking up with you and a bunch of self-righteous wankers in the middle of nowhere would be a lovely holiday.”

“Look, man, we have to live together here. We can either fight, or help each other.”

With a sigh, Spike sat down on his bed, the offending comforter over his lap. “My mum… she wanted me to be a priest. I promised her, all right?” He looked down at his hands as though embarrassed. “I keep my promises.”

“Heh. My parents hated me going to seminary. Waste of an education, they said; no money in it.”

Their eyes met, and they shared a quiet smile. Spike put the comforter back on the bed. “So, why did you sign up? You don’t look like the sort of bloke with a ‘calling’.”

“Just something I felt I had to do,” Lindsey said.

Spike tucked the cover back on the bed, relaxed enough to turn his back on his new roommate, he didn’t see the sadness in his eyes, nor notice him raising an eyebrow at the view of tight jeans.

“Well, ‘Father Lindsey’, think we’ll survive this place?”

“Heh. I plan to. Sure as hell a lot better than ‘Father Spike.””

Spike flung his pillow at him, which he caught, with a grin, and then a sneeze as the dust settled on him. He threw it back, and soon they were wrestling playfully. Spike pushed him to the floor and sat on him just a second, before pushing off and socking him in the arm. “I’m starving. C’mon, let’s find the kitchen and make pleading eyes at the fat old nuns. Probably wet their knickers to see some handsome blokes like us.” Spike laid his hand on his flat stomach in obvious pride and stepped backwards out into the corridor.

Lindsey laid where he was, struggling against the memory of tight muscles against his skin, trying to pant the lust out of his lungs and let it dissipate into the air. He prayed his roommate hadn’t noticed – needlessly, for Spike was already halfway down the hall and thinking only that his new friend was a bit of all right, for a yank.

***

Spike’s stomach must have been prescient, because the dinner bell rang just as they reached the first floor. All along the corridor, doors opened and priests and their students came out. There was no need to guess the direction to the dinning room.

“Hey!” A young man in an unfortunate shirt turned and pointed at them. “New guys! I heard you’d be coming today. Oz! Wait up! We got the new guys!”

Spike glanced at Lindsey, mouthing, “Oz?”

And then the boy in the loud shirt stuck out his hand. “I’m Xander. Welcome to St. Andrew’s.”

“Bloody hell, doesn’t anyone here have a normal name?”

“Sure, ‘Spike’,” Lindsey smirked.

Xander blinked at Spike. “Holy cow, you’re British!”

“Uh, yeah. Look. Lindsey and I have to… go over there.” Spike took Lindsey’s elbow and hurried down the corridor. Once they were five steps away, he muttered, “No soddin’ point starting out our first day here with the nerd patrol.”

“Dude, it’s not high school.”

“Everything is high school,” Spike countered. “Ah, there we go – that jock over there. No one with biceps that big is ever unpopular. Let’s score seats by him.”

Lindsey dragged his feet, staring in horror at the gorgeous young man Spike pointed to. Nope. He’d rather sit with Xander, thanks. Nice, unattractive Xander. He looked longingly back. Xander was scowling, obviously well aware of when he was dissed. A laconic fellow next to him patted his shoulder and they moved off together.

Before he was ready for it, Lindsey was sat between small, tight, and wiry Spike and large, muscular, and open-faced… whoever he was.

“Riley Finn, fourth year,” he offered his hand and his name with a smile. “Welcome to St. Andrew’s.”

“Yeah, hi.” Lindsey said, trying to act natural.

Father Angelus stood in the passage between the dinning hall and the butler’s pantry, watching the new boys find their places among the established students, silently reciting, “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe…”

“Are we up to something? Something naughty?”

Angelus turned to see the groundskeeper, Ethan Rayne, smiling at him, apparently in expectation of an affirmative answer. He scowled. “Don’t you have some shrubs to prune?”

“Even working men get the dinner hour off, Father,” Ethan said, and let his hand linger on Angelus’ elbow a moment longer than was strictly polite before stepping into the hall and finding a seat next to the older faculty.

Angelus really didn’t know what was up with that creep. He always looked smug. He was either a spy for the rector or just nuts.

Angelus was still recovering from Ethan’s unnerving presence when Lindsey made his decision for him, getting up with a mumbled apology and hurrying from the room like it was on fire.

Angelus smiled, noting the confused expressions on the Finn boy and the new recruit. He set off after Lindsey at a relaxed pace, his gown brushing the tops of his shoes as he strode down the corridor. 

Lindsey was hitting his fists together and pacing by the main foyer. Angelus slowed his steps for quiet’s sake and snuck very close before startling the boy with, “Problem, son?”

“No. Absolutely not. Sir.”

Oh, how Angelus loved it when they called him “sir”! He had to bite the inside of hislip to keep from groaning in delight. “You can tell me, son. I’m here to help.”

Lindsey looked up at him, clearly not believing the false sincerity. “Yeah, well, I like to sort stuff out myself.”

Angelus leaned against a corner post, casually blocking off one avenue of exit from the foyer. “It can be hard, breaking in to a small, tight community like this. And boys can be cruel - even our boys, who each have a higher calling.”

“Nobody’s being cruel. All right? I just needed some air.”

Angelus slipped a hand under his robe, more to restrain his eager cock than to indulge. “What about your roommate?”

“Spike? Heh.” Lindsey shook his head.

“’Spike’?”

“Only his mom calls him ‘William’, apparently.” Lindsey shrugged. 

“You know,” Angelus stepped into the path of Lindsey’s pacing, making him have to halt or risk bumping into him. “I’m concerned about William. You should keep an eye on him, for me.”

Lindsey obviously didn’t know how to take this change in the conversation. “What? He’s doing fine. Mister popularity, day one.”

Angelus ducked his head in false embarrassment. “I think you know what I’m worried about, Lindsey. He’s rather slender, isn’t he? And the boy dyes his hair, has an odd nickname… is gregarious with the other boys.” Angelus raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

The flicker of confusion and then wry amusement on Lindsey’s face told Angelus all he needed to know. “Nah, man. He ain’t… what you’re thinking.”

“I wouldn’t be to quick to dismiss it. We do get a fair number of young men here, who aren’t really priest material, not truly serious, who think becoming a priest is the honest way out of a perversion.”

“I’m sure there are,” Lindsey said, with the conviction and earnestness of a well-practiced line. His eyes flicked up and down, somehow challenging and cautious at the same time.

Angelus had what he would later call a moment of divine inspiration. He considered himself an artist, and true art often came with sudden flashes, moments of clarity that feel magical in their perfection. He grabbed Lindsey and pushed him against the wall. “I know there are,” he purred, and laid his palm on the boy’s crotch. He smiled at the strength of hardness he felt, and pressed his heel down, rubbing it. The boy’s expression went from a veneer of cool to pure panic.

“What do you want?” he asked in a strained whisper.

Angelus shrugged, working his hand up and down the boy’s erection. “Oh, I don’t know... a better assignment than this boring backwater, a really good bottle of scotch once in a while. The simple things in life.”

“So you gonna fuck me right here?” Lindsey lifted his chin.

Angelus smacked him, hard, just because he knew he could get away with it, and tutted. “That’s strong language for a house of god, young man.”

“You’re not the first pervert to blackmail me. I didn’t ask for this, you know. I know it’s wrong. That’s why I’m here.”

The broken bravery just made Angelus that much harder. He kissed the boy, possessively and commandingly, forcing his tongue against protesting lips until they parted.

Angelus had to remind himself they didn’t have forever before someone would wander down the hall. With a regretful groan he stepped back. “So you’ll look into that, won’t you? Your roommate’s proclivities?” He licked his lips. “We wouldn’t want anyone dirty infecting our community.”

“Where I come from, we like to have our blackmail terms set out clear. Are you telling me to set Spike up?”

Angelus shifted his shoulders, part shrug, part the settling of muscles one expects from a cat about to pounce. “I’m saying there’s a dirty little faggot in the freshman class. Who I report to the rector is up to you.”

“Yeah, well how about you just tell me what it is you want me to do, and I can go back to my fucking dinner?”

“You don’t get it, Lindsey.” He took a step back, looking calm and composed. “I’m the dean of students. Unless you want to leave this school, right now, and go home and explain to your family why, you’ll be doing a lot of things for me. I own you.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk and he turned on his heel, walking back to the cafeteria without hurry, leaving Lindsey to seethe at the broad expanse of his back.

***

“Where did you disappear to?”

Spike scooted back, opening up the spot Lindsey had vacated at the table. Someone had draped a napkin over Lindsey’s tray to keep the food warm. He shrugged and sat down, avoiding eye contact. “Just had to get a smoke,” he said.

“Should have told me, mate. I’d have joined you.”

Riley snickered.

“What?”

“’Mate’?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like, what, are you a pirate? Ahoy, matey!”

Lindsey snickered, too, grateful that Riley had changed the subject. “We’re going to have to teach this boy to speak American.”

“It’s called ‘English’, you illiterate twats, and you should consider it a privilege we let you murder it.” Spike leaned back in his chair with all the authority of a king on a throne and waggled a french-fry at them.

Lindsey smiled and let the banter float around him, putting in a laugh or an obvious comment here and there, but his mind was on the dean of students, whom he saw walking around the edge of the dining room, stopping to talk with other faculty members here and there. Every once in a while, a quick glance and smile fell his way, and he had to quickly look down at his food.

Back in their room, Spike slammed the door. “That was bollocks.”

“Huh? What?”

“You didn’t leave to smoke. Wherever you went, your brain is still there.”

Lindsey scowled. “Dude, it’s our first day. Give me a break.”

Spike leaned against the door, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in an expression that said he was not near to backing down. “I happen to be a nicotine addict. Pretty sure I know the smell of a bloke who’s just had a fix.”

Lindsey sank onto his bed and ran his hands through his hair. “Just… leave me be, okay?” He studied his roommate through a curtain of bangs, wondering if he could trust him.

“If there’s something you need to talk about, just tell me.” Spike crouched in front of Lindsey, peering up at him. “I’ll listen.”

He looked so earnest. Lindsey wanted to tell him, to reach out, to maybe have some one he could trust… but he knew too well how quickly a good buddy could turn into a bastard of an enemy once they found out he was a fuckin’ queer. “Nah, thanks.” He forced himself to smile. “Just not used to meeting so many people at once. Think, uh, think I’ll just have to pray on it.”

A strange look flickered over Spike’s features, and he cleared his throat. “Right.” He clapped his hand and stood.

“Do you want to pray with me?” He asked, and couldn’t help smiling because he could see the discomfort in Spike’s eyes.

“Ta, but no.”

Lindsey squinted at his roommate. “Why are you here?”

Spike busied himself gathering his shower things. “Told you. Promised my mum.”

“You do believe in God, right?”

Spike turned to give him an eloquent smirk and went back to gathering shampoo and soaps into a little carry-all.

“So why here? I mean, I applied to half a dozen seminaries, but this one was the cheapest to accept me.” And the farthest from home, but he wasn’t going to add that out loud.

“I applied to one.” Spike smiled humorlessly. “This place has the latest application deadline.” He threw his towel over his shoulder. “Look, it may surprise you to know, but I’m serious about this thing. You don’t have to look like some joyless pillock with a stick up his arse to have a calling.” He gestured at Lindsey. “Case in point, Mr. Country and Western here.”

Lindsey held up his hands. “Sorry, man. Just thought maybe you had something  _you_  want to talk about.”

“I’m good with people,” Spike muttered, defensively, “and it’s none of your business.” He stormed out into the hall, looking for the bathroom.

Lindsey shook his head. “What a fucked up freshmen class we are,” he muttered, and laid back on his bed, eyes on the cracked plaster ceiling, wondering what he could do, or if he was really, truly, fucked.

***

“Father Caleb?”

Lindsey felt like his bones were going to shake apart as he entered the Rector’s office. But he’d been living in terror all morning, turning every corner like Father Angelus was standing behind it.

The realization had hit him during morning mass, as Father Caleb gave a hellfire and damnation sermon. There was no one else, that he could see, scanning the attentive pews of faculty and staff, that was completely, thoroughly above Father Angelus. And if there was one thing Father Caleb wasn’t, it was queer.

He just had to hope he didn’t give himself away.

“Yes, son. Come in. It’s rude to stand in doorways.”

Father Caleb was no less frightening with his cassock off, working on papers in his shirtsleeves.

Lindsey felt like he should bow or something. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Father, I asked to see you because one of the faculty has made an indecent proposition to me.”

Father Caleb’s hand froze in the midst of writing. He looked up.

“Sir, I realize this sounds kind of shocking, and it’s only my second day here, but it’s true. I thought and prayed on it, and can’t think of anything I can do but bring it to your attention, as the head of the school.”

“You came in here to tattle-tale.”

A beat of silence as Lindsey stared in confusion. “Sir? One of your priests propositioned me. Sexually.”

Caleb set down his pen and folded his hands together over the papers. “And why would a god-fearing man do that?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Boy, are you bein’ smart with me?”

“No. I mean...” Lindsey shook his head. This wasn’t making sense. Father Caleb didn’t look surprised, or concerned. “Sir? Don’t you want to know who it was?”

“Not particularly. Whoever you accuse will no doubt deny it, and I’m inclined to take the word of an ordained priest over a boy who hasn’t even completed his first year at the seminary.”

Lindsey’s jaw dropped. Father Caleb just watched him, calmly. “Fine,” Lindsey said, and turned for the door.

“I did not dismiss you, young man.”

“Well, it’s obvious I’m just wasting both of our time.”

“Do not speak with your back to me, boy. That’s rude.”

Lindsey turned to find Father Caleb now standing in front of his desk. “We aren’t finished here, son, not by a long chalk.”

“Well, if you aren’t going to believe me, I don’t see what point there is in talkin’.”

“Oh, there’s a point.” Caleb leaned over him to place a palm flat on the door. Lindsey swallowed a dry gulp. “Now, tell me, son, what you did to tempt one of my brethren?”

“Nothing!”

Caleb looked up slightly and shook his head. “We both know that isn’t true.” His fingers twined in Lindsey’s hair, pulling his head back. He smiled. “Pray with me, son.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough*  
> This really was supposed to be a one-shot.
> 
> So... here we go!  
> Warnings: Slash! Abuse! Priest!kink! School!Kink! Use of controlled substances. And Spike swears. A lot. But you knew that.

Spike leaned against the stone wall that bounded the seminary grounds. Oz and Riley were with him, sharing a joint in one of the few secluded places they could reach and not be gone suspiciously long. At the far end of the courtyard that separated the main building from the chapel there was a narrow archway in the wall, weed-choked and leading to nothing – just a bare patch of ground where the forest receded a touch. It had probably once been a garden or something. Judging by the well-worn grass, they weren’t the first students to discover it.  
  
“This place is practically a prison,” Riley said. “But you get used to it. And it’s part of the path. I mean, when we’re out in the world, we’ll all be living in glass houses anyway. Priests get no privacy from the flock.”  
  
Oz raised an eyebrow that implied philosophic contention with this statement, but he was holding his hit in and didn’t speak. Not that he was a chatterbox usually.  
  
Spike took the joint and gestured with it. “Bugger that. They’re an outdated enclave of sad old bastards trying to exercise what little power they have over the poor sods in their custody. That’s us, in case you were wondering. They’ve got us trapped miles from fuck-all…”  
  
“Thought you said your roommie was going to be here,” Oz said, blithely changing the subject.  
  
“Well he would have, if he wasn’t acting all squirrelly. I swear he’s dodging me.” Spike peered through the garden gate, as though to see if Lindsey was around. He wasn’t. He’d managed not to be in the same place as Spike for more than four seconds for the past week.  
  
Lindsey hadn’t, in fact, wanted to see anyone. There weren’t many places on the grounds to hide. One building housed their rooms, the classrooms, and the dining area. Two formal halls in the front of the ‘house’ served for public addresses and meetings, the offices of the rector and the faculty. A separate house held the rectory and the small chapel. There were always students around the chapel, rotating in and out of service duties and the various practical classes. There were always students around the main ground, the gardens, and the hallways.  
  
And Lindsey didn’t want to be in the offices.  
  
So he found himself, just hiding. He turned whenever he saw another person coming his way, and kept turning until he’d herded himself into a corner. A linen closet. A narrow window, a row of drawers and cupboards. He was momentarily safe, but not enough. Knowing he was being juvenile, or maybe a little crazy, he opened a cupboard and crawled in, closing the door carefully behind him until the latch clicked and he was in darkness. There, kneeling on a stack of folded white towels, he leaned his face against the unstained wood and cried.  
  
He cried a long time, tears he’d been holding in, trying to hide anything that might show on his face. The darkness, the solitude of the closed cupboard freed him and he sobbed long and hard, his chest shaking, his ribs aching from deep gulps of air.  
  
He was slowing down to hiccups and whimpers when the linen closet door opened with a very loud creak. His breath left him fast, leaving his face hot and tight. Steps resounded on the wooden floor outside his cupboard. Lindsey held perfectly still, tears still dripping from his chin to land soundlessly on his jeans.  
  
The steps stopped. “Ah, son. Has it come to this?” The narrow band of light around the edge of the cupboard door flickered and retreated with the brush of Angelus’ gown. Lindsey continued to hold still, shivering like a cornered hare, hoping the priest was just bluffing. Bastard had probably talked to every towel cupboard in the residence.  
  
He hoped.  
  
And then the door creaked open, exposing his hot tears to the cool, dry air of the room and the gentle light of the window. And Father Angelus, crouched to look at him with a genteel, fatherly concern.  
  
Lindsey sniffled, wiped his cheeks with the heel of one hand, and said, “Well, I’m fucked.”  
  
Angelus shrugged. “Come with me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Angelus smiled coldly and stood, stepping back and waiting. After a while, even the sway of his vestments stilled.  
  
Lindsey sighed heavily. He rubbed his hand over the wet streaks he’d left on the wood. Father Angelus was as patient as a statue. Slowly, he crawled out. His knees and hips were sore. He took in a shaky breath and just barely managed to make his voice calm. “Sure. Why not? I’m going to hell. My life is over. I figure Father Caleb’s already talked to you about the whole thing.”  
  
“He gave me his side of the story. I want to hear yours.”  
  
Lindsey looked up to see Angelus smiling eagerly. Somehow, he suspected this didn’t have anything to do with proper authorities or punishment.  
  
Well, maybe punishment.   
  
He nodded, not looking up from the floor, and let Angelus drape an arm across his shoulders and lead him out of the closet.  
  
Lindsey didn’t think much, during the walk down to the first floor and then across the gravel drive to the chapel. He took the time for what it was: a reprieve.  
  
Lying in the narrow band of sunny grass between the seminary wall and the woods, Spike was pleasantly buzzed and engaged in what was either an intense theological discussion or bullshitting. (The fine line between the two was very hard to discern when buzzed.)  
  
He lifted himself up on his elbows and peered through the garden gate to see two figures crossing the yard. “Hang on… isn’t that Lindsey? What’s he doing with Father Angel Piss?”  
  
Riley rolled onto his stomach and squinted. “Must be in trouble. That was fast.”  
  
Spike bit his lip, feeling some of his happy buzz dissipate. “This Angelus does all the disciplining around here, does he?”  
  
“Pretty much. Guy’s a dick.” Riley giggled. The joint had left him a little red-faced and talkative.  
  
Spike stood and dusted the grass from his jeans. “Think I’ll take a peek, see what old forehead is up to.”  
  
Oz grabbed his trouser cuff and shook his head.  
  
“What, bad idea?”  
  
Oz shrugged. “Not generally advisable.”  
  
“Just my sort of plan.” Spike smiled and stepped up to the garden gate, flattening himself against the wall like he was in a spy movie and peering carefully around to watch Angelus and Lindsey disappear into the chapel.  
  
***  
  
Lindsey’s numb acceptance fizzled as he was pushed into the confessional box. Angelus saw him seated on the hard wooden seat, closed the curtain, and then settled into the priest’s side. Lindsey stared at him through the grill-work as he slid the window open. “Are we doing this for real?”  
  
“Do you believe in the power of confession?”  
  
Lindsey hung his head, feeling those hard eyes staring at him through the lattice. “Of course I do. But you…”  
  
“I’m a priest. Don’t tell me what I am. We’re here for you to confess your sins.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘cept I don’t think that’s really what you’re here for, are you?”  
  
Angelus’ low chuckle reverberated in the small enclosure. “Oh, I have my own reasons, too, but this is one of them. I want to hear what happened. Everything that happened. Tell me, boy. Tell me in detail.”  
  
Lindsey looked at his hands, lying limply between his knees. “I went to Father Caleb. Told him how you’d felt me up. You gonna give me a penance for telling on you? I know I did the right thing, Father.”  
  
“Did you tell him how you enjoyed it?”  
  
“What? No!” Lindsey started to get up.  
  
He was stopped with a single, firmly spoken word. “Lindsey.”  
  
He clenched the curtain in his fist. “Look. Just tell me what this is. What you want from me, what the threat is. I just want to know.”  
  
He could see the smirk even through the screen. “Sit your ass down, my son.” When Lindsey hesitated, he added, “or you’ll find out what I can do to you the hard way.”  
  
In stages, Lindsey got himself to let go of the curtain and settle back onto the little wooden seat. He rubbed his sweating palms over his thighs. “Just tell me,” he said, very quietly.  
  
“No, my son. You tell me. I want colors, sounds, feelings, emotion. I want you to paint a picture for me. And if you do a very good job, your penance will be reduced.”  
  
“What’s the penance?”  
  
“I can’t tell you that until you’ve finished.”  
  
“And if I refuse to do it?”  
  
Angelus laughed. “Do I really need a threat above and beyond your immortal soul burning for eternity?”  
  
Lindsey gripped his hands in his lap. This was all so fucked up. He shook his head, and then, remembering that the father could not necessarily see him, squeaked out, “No, sir.”  
  
“Good boy. Now begin, and no more questions. It’s not like I’m going to deprive myself of your uncertainty.” He chuckled.  
  
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It’s been,” Lindsey sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Three days since my last confession.”  
  
“Are you also guilty of omitting sins from confession?”  
  
Lindsey sighed. “Yeah. I omitted.” There was a silence. Damn this guy was patient. He shut his eyes. “I’ve been to confession twice since a certain priest awoke feelings of carnal lust in me. The dirty pervert grabbed my dick through my pants. I don’t suppose I have to recount that particular incident?”  
  
“Just tell me what happened when you went to Father Caleb.”  
  
Lindsey bit his lip. “It was just after morning assembly. The sun was pouring in the windows. I remember that. He has a stained glass window in his office, just over the desk. St. Andrew’s cross, blue on a red and gold background, like sun’s rays. It’s a beautiful window, you know? Rich color spilling all over those school desks he has for his visitors to sit and feel intimidated in.”  
  
Angelus gave an appreciative snort.  
  
Lindsey licked his bottom lip and glanced sidelong at the outline of Father Angelus’ shadow on the screen between them. The dread growing in him matched what he felt that morning, but it was nameless. Not knowing what to expect clenched his gut tighter than when he feared and knew. No wonder the bastard wouldn’t give him any specific threats.  
  
“He told me it was my fault. That the evil within me had driven you to sin.”  
  
“And was, it, son?”  
  
“I… “  
  
Angelus bit off a groan. “Confess your sins, boy.”  
  
“I know it’s in me. I’m tryin’, Father. Trying not to feel these things.”  
  
When Father Caleb had pushed him down, across one of the little student desks, ranting about hell and temptation, and Lindsey had lied to himself, said it was going to be a spanking, but he knew, as he gripped that wooden edge and saw the blue light from the window fall over his knuckles. He knew what was happening, and despite it all, there was a sick thrill, that at last he was going to experience what he’d been longing for.  
  
Lindsey inhaled, long and wet, pulling a sob back into him. “It wasn’t what I’d thought it would be. It… it hurt. God, it hurt. Not the way you think it will. Not like… like banging your knee or something. It was like the pain just magnified itself, like it could echo.”  
  
Lindsey was too lost in his own horrors to hear the shuffling of fabric as Angelus opened his pants and pushed his robe aside. “But it didn’t hurt all the way through, did it lad? Ye liked it, before it was over.”  
  
“N-no. I h-hated it! I hated it!”  
  
“Not all the time. I know what it’s like, boy. I’ve been there. Weren’t there moments, you thought, “At least I’m getting to feel this, and it isn’t my fault? Wasn’t that freeing, boy? Didn’t you revel in the sin?”  
  
Lindsey sniffled and cried, not quite able to respond.  
  
“Tell me, lad. Tell me how filthy and deviant you are. Tell me all the things that felt good.”  
  
***  
  
Spike’s courage was waning with his high, and he felt downright stupid, sneaking into the church. When an older faculty member passed him, he turned himself toward the altar, crossed himself, and made as though he’d come in for extra-curricular prayer.  
  
It was hard to scan the room from a kneeling bar. Over his clasped hands, he muttered, “Almighty God. I am an arse. Do guide me to not being a complete fuckwit. Glory to you, blah blah, amen.”  
  
His eyes alighted on the confessionals. More importantly, his ears picked up a half-heard sound. A thump? He glanced around for the locations of the other priests and students; the sanctuary was as empty as it ever got. He slipped down the row of pews to investigate the ornate wooden structure of the confessional booths.  
  
Leaning into the shadows at the end of the row, beneath one of the carved representations of the stations of the cross, he heard more. Sobs. Definitely Lindsey’s voice. “No, no… Father, I…”  
  
And… rhythmically, that soft thumping. It almost sounded like…  
  
Spike’s eyes doubled in size. “Sodding… appropriately… hell.” He cast a conspiratorial glance at the life-sized Jesus over him, his face sorrowful, his hands tied before him. “Father Angelus didn’t bring Lindsey here to punish him. He brought him here to bugger him! What the bleeding, buggering…” Spike’s voice trailed off. “Buggering” seemed to carry through the ornate little church, that so normally baffled sound, clear as a bell. An elderly faculty member turned from his task lighting candles in the far vestibule.  
  
Turning crimson, Spike fled the church.  
  
***  
  
Lindsey hardly noticed the point at which he realized Father Angelus was jerking off to his story. It didn’t surprise him; it was just another filthy thing in a world that surrounded him with filth, inside and out. “I wanted to be chaste. I swore… to myself. I was chaste, damn it. I didn’t even… you know. I mean, I tried not to. It leads you to want more. I didn’t want more.”  
  
“Yes you did.”  
  
“I did. God, I did. Am I beyond redemption?”  
  
“With any luck.”  
  
“Father?”  
  
Angelus groaned, deep and low. Despite himself, Lindsey thrilled a little at the sound, powerful and restrained. The steady movement stopped and Angelus panted, slowly regaining himself.  
  
“With any luck,” he repeated in an altogether more question-like way, “you’ll be saved by your penance.”  
  
“Can you redeem sin with more sin, Father?”  
  
Angelus, being more in control of himself, refrained from another “With any luck.” He just grinned wryly and busied himself with the box of tissues he kept in this particular confessional. “I’ve already told you what I wanted, but you foolishly stepped in the way. I suppose you’d rather martyr yourself on a cross of sodomy – not that I’m saying it’s such an awful, terrible cross to bear.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Ha. Oh, not yet. No, son. I want your cherry little roommate. You will bring him to me.”  
  
Lindsey felt a completely unexplainable stab of rejection. “I told you; he ain’t like that.”  
  
“God, I hope so. So much more delicious when they don’t enjoy it.” Angelus licked his lips and couldn’t help throwing the extra jab: “When they aren’t perverted, like you. Just a whore in innocent’s clothing.”  
  
“I’m not a…”  
  
“Oh, yes you are, Lindsey.” Angelus drew the second part of the screen back, completely opening the space between them so he could look Lindsey in the face. “You pleased Father Caleb, didn’t you? Enough that he’s decided not to punish you further. I know how the man operates, Lindsey. I know that means you gave it up good and willingly.”  
  
Lindsey felt completely naked in the path of that oh-so-clothed expression. Angelus could probably  _be_  naked and still wear that covering mask so well. He tried to swallow, but his throat was glued together. His voice came out broken and husky. “I won’t do it.”  
  
“Then I won’t give you what you need. What you crave.” Angelus’ voice rippled with dirty promises. His lips were open, his head tilted back just a little. “Your penance and forgiveness.”  
  
***  
  
Angelus whistled cheerfully as he crossed the sunny courtyard back to the main building. He had a three o’clock class to teach, and a delicious plan unfolding nicely all around him. With any luck he was going to have more than just a little fun with the new boys. He was going to get Caleb locked away – maybe after some fun with him, too, and then they would have to close this hell-hole and send him somewhere sunny, with tanned young boys in colorful beach shorts.  
  
And he could slowly torment them too. Damn, he was getting hard again, already. Maybe he could schedule an advisory meeting… no, no. Best to let the anticipation fester. It was the sweetest spice, after all.  
  
***  
  
Lindsey returned to his room, after classes, filled with dread and uncertainty at seeing his roommate. Would the other boy just know, what had been discussed, by looking at his face?  
  
To his great despair, Spike appeared to be waiting for him, sitting on his bed, an unread book in his lap. He jumped up as soon as Lindsey was in the door. “We need to talk.”  
  
Lindsey headed to his cupboard to get his shower things and his bottle of whiskey. “No, we don’t.”  
  
“You’ve been avoiding me. I thought we were hitting it off. What happened?”  
  
God, he knows. Lindsey stayed behind the relative safety of his wardrobe door, and unscrewed the panel that hid his whiskey. “Just been busy, that’s all.” And fuck, his mind was already whirling, trying to come up with a plan to lure Spike to Angelus. He was evil, wasn’t he? He shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea. “But we should hang, some time. I mean…” Lindsey’s fingers clasped reassuringly over the long neck of a bottle and he drew it from its hiding place. He looked down at its label regretfully, one thumb running over the embossed lettering. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out from behind the closet door and held the bottle aloft for Spike to see.  
  
Spike’s eyebrows raised. “Oh,” he said. “Wouldn’t say no.”  
  
Lindsey got out two shot glasses. He considered how easy it would be to just get the guy drunk. He considered how dangerous it would be to get drunk – what he might say without meaning to. Both of these lost out to the simple need for a drink. He felt the smell of the whiskey hit his senses like balm as he poured two shots.  
  
Spike, for his part, was fidgeting restlessly, trying to come up with a casual, easy way of working “So you like taking it up the bum?” into the conversation. So far, no ideas. And he was sure drinking wasn’t going to help him. It was, however, very much against his principals to turn down free booze.  
  
Before they knew it, they’d given up on the shot glasses and were passing the nearly empty bottle back and forth, seated on the floor between their beds.  
  
“I don’ know what I’m doing. Not a bit.” Spike waved his hand helplessly overhead. “I mean… you can almost feel the walls telling me I don’t belong here.”  
  
“You don’t belong here. Hell.” Lindsey looked sorrowfully into his bottle like it would give him some answer. “I really wanted to be a priest,” he said, quietly.  
  
“Mate, it’s not even the second week of classes. Bit early to be dooming yourself.”  
  
“Nah, it ain’t.” Lindsey drained half of what was left in the bottle and then wiped his mouth on his forearm. “I was doomed before I got here. Back home, you know, Father Joe was the only person to treat me decent? He was a saint. And our church – it was a ugly old cinder block building with painted-on stained glass. But compared to home… it was a special place for me. I had duty and purpose. I saw beauty in them god-awful fake stained glass windows.”  
  
Spike took the bottle. “Giant neo-gothic church. Father Erasmus. Total dick. Four years as an altar attendant, two as a Eucharistic minister, and I sodding hated every minute.”  
  
“So we have absolutely nothing in common,” Lindsey smiled, leaning his head back on the bed behind him.  
  
“Not true. We’re both devastatingly handsome.” Spike lifted the bottle in toast. And then, remembering what he’d seen, his smile faltered. He saw something like worry flicker over Lindsey’s features. He set the bottle down between them. “This bollocks about gay priests; I don’t think it should matter what sort of sex we’re not having.”  
  
Lindsey blinked, broadsided by the conversation topic change. “What kind of sex aren’t we having?”  
  
“Well, any. Sorry wankers we are.” Spike scratched his nose and looked at Lindsey somewhat fearfully. “I’m trying to say – I think a gay man can be as good a preacher as a straight man and anyone who says different is probably over compensating or something. And if one of my friends, or a student, or a teacher, or anyone was… I mean, I’d be all right with that and…”  
  
“You think I’m gay.”  
  
“Well, if you’re not, I’ve really put my foot in my mouth, so I’m really hoping you are.”  
  
Lindsey closed his eyes and shook his head, a smile stealing over his features as he started to laugh.  
  
“Lindsey?”  
  
Spike’s look of semi-panic was enough to push him further over the edge into hilarity. He covered his face and his shoulders shook with helpless laughter. Hands settled on his shoulders. He felt Spike’s knees on either side of his. “I’m trying to be a supportive roommate here, you berk.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” Lindsey pressed his hands up, into his hair, and took a shaky breath. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m just so fucked up, Spike. You have no idea.”  
  
“Think I’m getting one,” Spike said. His hand joined Lindsey’s, tangling in his hair affectionately. “Come on, tell me. Tell Uncle Spike all your problems.”  
  
Lindsey pushed him away half-heartedly. “Just what I need, another perverted uncle.”  
  
“Watch it, or you’ll get a spanking,” Spike waggled his eyebrows and pushed back, equally without force.  
  
They had a few moments of drunken slap-fight and Spike settled back down on the floor next to Lindsey, the knowledge permeating his pickled brain that Lindsey wasn’t going to volunteer information. He sighed. “Heard you and Angelus. In the confessional.”  
  
Spike could feel the body next to him stiffen right on cue, and silently cursed the death of their relaxation.  
  
“What did you hear?”  
  
“Enough.”  
  
Lindsey scooted further away. “So you know about the… thing. Uh.” Lindsey coughed. Even sober, he couldn’t think of a way to ask how much Spike knew without revealing the worst of it.  
  
“I heard you say ‘no’,” Spike said, and put his hand, intending to be supportive, on Lindsey’s knee. Lindsey knocked it off of him and Spike’s brow crinkled in concern. “Look. Soon as we’re both, uh, not soused, we’ll go together to his superior. We’ll have that bastard…”  
  
Lindsey broke into another uncontrollable fit of laughter, this time it sounded eerily like sobs. “I already went to Father Caleb, dummy.” He giggled, a little high-pitched break from the sobs, as he saw Spike’s confused frown. “Father Caleb told me it was all my fault. I must have ‘lead him on’. And near as I can figure, this sort of crap happens here all the time. So no,” all the humor and emotion drained from his face. “I can’t go report it. I can’t do anything but give up. Drop out. Say goodbye to my dream.”  
  
“It’s not your fault!”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“Big, bad dean of students? And you sobbing and crying ‘no’? Gosh mate, you’re right, it’s very hard to see where the power lies in that situation.” Spike rolled his eyes. “Stop being a fucking martyr. That gig’s taken.”  
  
Lindsey grabbed his arm. “What if I wanted it? What if I’m so hard-up for cock I didn’t even mind that it was forced on me? Did you think of that?”  
  
Lindsey shook Spike hard when his face melted into pity. So the other boy smacked him. “Listen to me, you dense, irritating pillock. You can’t help who you’re attracted to. You can’t help feeling. It’s your actions that count.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, my actions have compromised me. I’m not chaste anymore.”  
  
Spike managed a combination of open-mouthed shock and a sneer at the same time. “Mate, I ain’t been ‘chaste’ since I was fourteen.”  
  
Lindsey looked confusedly at him while Spike wiped his tears away with his thumb. “We’re supposed to be celibate.”  
  
“Haven’t taken our vows yet, idiot.” And Spike leaned forward, slowly, and pressed his lips to Lindsey’s trembling, tear-wet ones.  
  
Lindsey rolled his lips inward, tasting salt, and licked the traces of sensation. “I… I thought you weren’t…”  
  
“Bent? Well, call me more ‘wobbly’.” Spike winked. His second kiss was met with an open mouth pressing back, and needy hands grasping his shoulders.  
  
As one, their bodies pressed toward each other. Frustration and sorrow and anger all melting into lust as lips and tongues explored each other. Fists clenched and twisted, and Spike pulled back to pull his t-shirt off before it was ripped to shreds.  
  
Lindsey gaped in appreciation at the bare skin before him, hands ghosting at first, afraid to touch, but then Spike was kissing him again, hard and punishing, and fingers were working down the buttons on his shirt and all he could do was feel, starving for more skin to touch and taste.  
  
He ducked under Spike’s mouth to bite his neck, licking the different salt of sweat, the masculine taste of him. Spike gasped.  
  
“This is… gah… probably not one of my better ideas.”  
  
Lindsey hauled them both up onto the edge of the bed they’d been leaning against and kissed Spike hard. “Come to hell with me,” he said.  
  
“Hell yes,” Spike said, and they tumbled together onto the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is it. It could go further, but I think this is far enough, yeah?
> 
> NC-17! Abuse! Mis-use of prayer!

Lindsey awoke to the bright sunshine on the white plaster ceiling above him. His first thought was:  _shit, I missed my afternoon classes._  This was followed quickly by the awareness that something very heavy and breathing was pinning his left arm to the bed. A turn of his head revealed the identity of the dead-weight. Spike’s face was angelic in sleep, lips slightly parted. And then he awoke to the sensations in his body, the pleasant soreness, so different from how he’d felt after Caleb had taken his virginity. Far from feeling damaged, he felt every ache yearning for a repeat performance.  
  
He sighed.  _Yup, going to hell._  
  
Spike stirred, blinking sleepily at him and not looking at all surprised or shocked. “Mmf. Sorry, mate. Dropped right off.” He lifted himself up on his arms so Lindsey could move out from under him, smiling sweetly, looking all bedraggled and sexy as hell.  
  
The guilt and shame had taken a brief vacation, but now came home to roost in Lindsey’s heart with a heavy thump of set-down baggage. (And it felt like they’d been buying souveniers.)  
  
He scurried off the bed, grabbed the nearest piece of fabric – Spike’s black t-shirt – and holding it over his groin. “I… gotta go. Wash. Yeah. Dinner soon.”  
  
“Easy, cowboy.” Spike stood, reaching to grasp Lindsey’s arm, but he pulled out of his grip and ran out the door, naked and all, not looking back to see his roommate’s confusion.  
  
***  
  
Father Angelus looked up with mild surprise as Lindsey dropped into the seat beside him at the dinning table.  
  
“I just want to know one thing: can I still become a priest?”  
  
Angelus set down his fork, swallowed the mouthful of meatloaf he had, dabbed his lips, and asked, “Do you want to? Deeply, in your soul, is it what you desire?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Angelus smiled. “Then you shall be a priest, my son.” He half-turned and winked. “I’ll show you the way.”  
  
Lindsey’s face was unreadable. “I have a problem,” he said.  
  
“Then I suggest you come to me during my office hours.”  
  
“I’d rather talk right now.”  
  
Angelus turned to face the boy. “And I would rather eat my meal in peace. Or is it your hope to establish yourself as my best friend in the lunchroom?” He smiled humorlessly.  
  
Lindsey didn’t move, his hard face implying something was owed.  
  
Angelus sighed. “After lights out, come see me in the chapel. Now go.”  
  
Lindsey nodded solemnly and picked up his tray, heading back to his table.  
  
Spike tracked his movements with rapt attention. Next to him, Riley asked, “What is it with your roommate? Isn’t he even going to sit with us?”  
  
Spike hurriedly pretended not to be concerned. “Linds is thinking the big questions.”  
  
“Heh. That’s early. You’re not supposed to have your existential freak-out until second year.”  
  
Spike bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, well, whatever it is, it’s his business, so lay off him.”  
  
“Woah. Easy. No need to leap to his defense.”  
  
“I’m not. I just don’t want to make him any worse. Got to live with him, don’t I?”  
  
Riley took one look at the conflicted worry on his new friend’s face and tactfully changed to subject.  
  
***  
  
In hindsight, Lindsey supposed he really should have known that the moment he walked into the chapel he would be smacked, hard, and then thrown against a wall.  
  
Didn’t make it any more alarming when it happened.  
  
“Let me explain something to you, boy. This isn’t a relationship. I want something from you; I take it. You want something from me; you get on your dirty knees and pray, because asking only gets you hurt.” Angelus shook him. “Am I clear?”  
  
“S… super clear.”  
  
Angelus shook him again, face a mask of fury.  
  
“Sir!” Lindsey amended.  
  
Angelus dropped him and stepped back. “So, what’s this problem so important you’d risk pissing me off?”  
  
“It’s my roommate.”  
  
“What? Did his dick fall off? I hate when that happens.”  
  
“I won’t let you have him.”  
  
Angelus stared a moment in shock, then threw back his head in laughter. “That’s so cute. Wait… are you serious?”  
  
“You won’t want him anyway. He ain’t a virgin.”  
  
“Virgin” ended in “eep!” as Lindsey was once again picked up and shoved into the linenfold panels.  
  
“It’s been a while since I killed a man, so you had better not be responsible for his non-virginal state.”  
  
“No! Fuck!” Angelus backhanded him casually for the curse word but didn’t drop him, waiting with implacable calm.  
  
Lindsey licked blood from his split lip, feeling the sting. “He told me he’s done everything. Years ago.”  
  
“Well, then I guess I’ll just have to beat you  _half_  to death,” Angelus said, with frightening nonchalance. He grabbed Lindsey’s belt, pulling the buckle open roughly, his knuckles striking hard into soft flesh as Lindsey did his best to just hold still.  
  
Angelus tossed him toward the back row of pews. “Find something to hold on to, boy, and don’t be picky; you’ve got three seconds to decide.”  
  
Lindsey didn’t decide so much as fall against the pew and grab the top, trying to stand back up. Angelus pushed him down, over it, and he was staring at the wooden bench below his face while the narrow seat back dug into his hips. Denim ripped as Angelus tugged his jeans down to his knees. “Shall we start with fourteen ‘Our Father’s?” He ran his hand over Lindsey’s ass, squeazing the flesh like he was testing fruit for ripeness.  
  
“What?” Lindsey squeaked. And then the flat of Angelus’ palm hit, hard and stinging.  
  
“I’ll keep going until you’ve finished them, boy. Fourteen. Our Fathers.” He smacked him twice more, the fleshy sound echoing in the empty chapel.  
  
“Gah! Our Fatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethyname…” Lindsey recited as fast as he could.  
  
Angelus admired the taut, firm skin, that was darkening nicely under his hand, and the way Lindsey’s voice broke. He was choking and sobbing his way through the rosary while Angelus switched from his bare hand to using Lindsey’s own belt, first the tab-end, then the buckle. And at last he tired of that and used the smooth, flat old missal he plucked from the pew. That was a cool-down, more than anything else. Angelus loved the solid sound it made, and he remembered as a boy findng the books’ smooth covers soothing to a thoroughly spanked ass.  
  
Angelus set down the missal and squeezed the redden globes again, to see the white bloom and sink into dark pink, the deep, black bruising only hinted at in the depth of the color. Then he noticed that Lindsey had stopped reciting. His face was as red as his ass, tear streaked and leaning against the wooden bench, his sobs given over to hiccups. Angelus hadn’t been counting, but he didn’t want to appear less than omniscient by asking if that had been the full fourteen recitations of the Lord’s Prayer. He ran his hands in soothing circles over Lindsey’s back and hips. “Now then, lad, on to the next part of your penance.” He smiled as the hiccups hitched to a stop, the boy tensing anew under his hands. He rubbed his thumbs into the dip at the top of the coccyx. “The spanking was for offending me. We haven’t even begun to deal with your sin of lust, or betrayal. Have we?” When Lindsey didn’t respond, he dug his fingers hard into the small of his back. The boy gasped and nodded.  
  
“Let’s hear you give us twenty-four Hail Mary’s.” Angelus left one hand, proprietary, on Lindsey’s back, holding him in place while he busied himself opening his clothing.  
  
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee…” Lindsey’s voice was devoid of inflection. “Blessed art thou among women and blessed…” He only faltered a half-breath, like a hiccup, when Angelus slid a gel-coated finger into him.  
  
Oh, the boy was beautiful! Broken and hurting, quivering and sobbing, he was like a droplet about to fall, heavy and yet still clinging to the surface of a glass. He was full of innocence, guilt, shame, and pain, and yet he was already pressing back against Angelus’ questing fingers, joining in the rhythm he set.  
  
Angelus made himself keep the foreplay up for one whole recitation of the prayer – which was fortunately a short one. But he didn’t want this to be over too soon. He reached for his cock and jacked himself, his hand coated in gel warmed by Lindsey’s skin. He took the head and guided it up and down, separating his cheeks and delving in slowly, letting the boy feel him and know full well what was coming.  
  
Like an angel, he kept up his prayer.  
  
Angelus poised at his entrance, waiting for the next repetition of “blessed” before pressing forward. He didn’t hear the reciting, for a moment. His vision nearly grayed out at the pleasure. He pressed forward until his pelvis was flush against the heated flesh beneath him, and then he gripped the boy’s hips and pulled him even tighter.  
  
He gasped in the middle of a word, but continued. Angelus fucked him in the rhythm of his prayer, in and out with each syllable, pausing with each breath. The prayers, and the sex, sped up, building and building.  
  
Angelus, very briefly, wished religion felt like this. Like attaining something.  
  
Lindsey’s words were blurring in to each other now, “fruitofyourwombjesuschrist.” Angelus was snapping his hips forward as quickly as he could, grunting now with the effort, he felt his orgasm drawing up, pooling in his center, ready to explode. He looked up, at the crucifix above the altar, to meet the suffering eyes of the savior with a smirk as he spilled his release deep in the hot, tight body pressed between him and the hard church pew.  
  
Slowly, Angelus became aware of his discomfort, half leaning on the boy, and if the pew-back felt painful to him, against his thighs, it must be torture against the boy’s stomach. Also, Angelus realized how very sweaty he was, and the cool air was making him chilled. Then he realized Lindsey was still reciting, counting between prayers. “Twenty-two,” he said. “Hail Mary full of grace…”  
  
Angelus groaned and stood, righting his own clothing. He listened to Lindsey’s last two recitations while wiping his face with his pocket handkerchief.  
  
Then he hauled the boy up. He slipped to the floor, unable to bear his own weight yet. Angelus let him fall, legs akimbo, leaning against the last pew of the church, his pants still bunched around mid-thigh.  
  
“Now then,” Angelus crouched next to him and took his chin in hand, forcing Lindsey to look at him. “Are you going to bring your roommate to me?”  
  
Lindsey looked glassy-eyed at him a moment, and Angelus shook him.  
  
“Yes, sir,” he said.  
  
“You’ll bring him to me and in return, sweet, beautiful boy, I will show you the path and the glory.” He rubbed a thumb over Lindsey’s lower lip to see the plump flesh pull, and kissed him.  
  
As he leaned back, Lindsey licked his lips. “I want it,” he said. “Show me.”  
  
Angelus chuckled. “Amen,” he said.


End file.
